A Boy Lost, A Man Returned
by ManW0lf83
Summary: Harry returns home after a decade away, facing his fears and his lost love, Ginny. P.S. I don't own squat.


CHAPTER ONE  
  
Slowly, ever so slowly he walked, in a shuffling limp towards the huge, fanciful wrought iron gates. Never in his young, but intolerably long life had he so wanted to walk into to a campus, a building, and a life. Yet, never had he been so fearful either.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
For eight years he had suffered at his own hands, for nearly ten years before that at the hands of another, and for a further ten years before that at yet another's. Ten years! Ten years he had spent alone under the roof of the Dursley's, fighting the quiet war for his health, mental, physical, and spiritual alike.  
  
Then had come his seeming providence in the form of an ancient school of magic, full of wondrous things. Friends, teachers, mentors. Even the dearly wished for family of his tear-laden dreams. A brother he found in Ron, a sister in Hermione, lesser, but siblings as dearly loved in the Weasley's, parents in Arthur, Molly, and Sirius, and uncle in Remus, and a grandfather in great, old Dumbledore. But Lord, hadn't I been happy then? He thinks now.  
  
Then came his second life-bane, crashing brutally onto the scene in the form of Voldemort. For six years, since the age of fifteen, he had truly fought to bring this manifestation of all worldly evil in man form, to its end. In his later years the fight had escalated in leaps and bounds to mythic proportions. Surprisingly, Voldemort had limited his attacks to the magical community of Britain. Still, there were many of them, Oh so many! Some had been murdered, some were violently stolen and never seen again. All had been horribly taken from loved ones.  
  
Six Weasleys and one woman by the name of Morrigan Harahan had been lost in one of these brutal attacks. Arthur, Molly, Charlie, his fiancé Morrigan, Percy, Fred, and George. To think that Bill, not yet thirty-two years old was now the eldest surviving member of his eternal, respected family. And to lose the majority of his family in so horrible way and so joyous an occasion, the wedding of his closest brother Charlie. Only Bill himself, Ron and Ginny had been unable to attend the ceremony. Ron and Ginny were obligated to their schoolwork, and Charlie had been unable to travel due to an injury incurred during a de-cursing in an ancient tomb of modern day Turkey. Now he was responsible for the raising and care of his youngest siblings. He was forced to leave his job and get one in the ministry at home, so that he may offer that care.  
  
Not three months later, the bodies of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin had been found in Lupin's ancestral Irish home, lying broken beneath the grim Dark Mark. Their bodies had been mutilated and the parts scattered in a gruesome message to The-Boy-Who-Lived. Charlie, still working through his own grief had understood that young Harry's must be ten- fold worse. Charlie had known of Harry's familial feelings toward the Weasley family, and then to lose two more. The one thing that had lifted Harry's spirits in the time after was the posthumous clearing of Sirius' good name, and the honorable title of "Hero of the Wizarding Population of Britain" that was bestowed to the once hated man.  
  
It was evident to the whole of the very same realm, that saw in Harry the change. The hardening of the eyes, the aura of determination, the willingness to fight and die in full animalistic rage. He had spoken to few, truly talked to only Ron, Hermione, and eight month girlfriend Ginny. In a drastic turn about he studied laboriously, surpassed all others in his year and any other, fought to attend extra classes, and poured over any news on the Dark Lords movements and methods as he could. All who loved him had begged that he slow down and live his life as a boy his age should. Once he had responded "I am not a boy my age, I am beyond that, sixteen year old boys do not know the pain of witnessing murder, of hearing tell that their family has been killed as well, of being nine years old and wishing that they could die so that they wouldn't be subject to the abuse an uncaring home can put to them. I don't know if I have what makes a man, but I am not a boy." He had not been questioned in that regard again.  
  
Sixteen months later Harry graduated with full honors, at the top of his class. He had immediately petitioned to join every organization, public and private, in the war. Every group rejected him saying that he was wanted dearly but that his lack of experience and formal training would limit him from the actual fighting. Harry, knowing in his heart that he was able, had set out on his own, gone sometimes for months at a time. It became apparent to his friends and adoptive family that during the times of his disappearances large numbers of Death Eaters would appear dead or wounded at the steps of the Ministry complex, and that the bodies would stop coming when he would arrive home, only to start again after he went out again.  
  
Luckily, the press never saw a correlation (or never let on that they did) and Harry was never approached by Ministry Law Enforcement Agents, and was able to continue his work as the press-named "Archangel of Justice" or just "The Archangel" at times.  
  
Eight months after the Archangel's emergence the most shocking news of the war spread like plague through the country. Voldemort was dead. In a large battle near the northeastern coast of Scotland he had cast a large spell designed to implode the force of Dumbledore's army. Fawkes, the phoenix, had reportedly attacked him at the completion of the incantation, disrupting his spell and causing it to act upon its caster and those nearest him. Voldemort and thirty- six of his followers died that day, not at the hands of The- Boy-Who-Lived, or the great Professor Dumbledore, but through the merciless attack of an immortal red bird.  
  
Three days later Harry left England, and for all the world knew, the planet with not a word as to why or where.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Now, here he stood, hand outstretched, struggling with his own fear to push open the enormous gates and step through. Finally, after running a hand through his eternally tousled hair, he adjusted his long, black leather duster, replaced the black Stetson on his head, and made his way up to the dark, and indescribably beautiful castle before him.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Professor Dumbledore walked meanderingly through the stone halls of what had been his home for most of his one-hundred- and-sixty-four years. Indulging himself in memories good and bad, each treasured. It was three in the A.M., and he was wide awake. Many students, and indeed many teachers as well, believed he did not sleep. This was in fact mostly true. He did lay in his large bed, with eyes closed and rest his mind and body on the cusp of sleep, yet he never truly fell in what we would call true sleep. His mind was always moving, his eyes listening, his instinct alert.  
  
He had been this way for nearly ninety years, but it had gotten worse in the last five or so. After the disappearance of his most respected student, Harry Potter, he had searched at all "waking" moments for the boy, no MAN!, and only after four years of fruitlessly seeking had he given up hope, deciding finally that if the "Archangel" did not wish to be found, he would not. Since that decision, made at the memorial service for Aberforth, he had slept less often. Most nights he would be found wandering the halls of Hogwarts. His mind new not if it was restlessness that drove him, or guilt continuing the search at home.  
  
Just outside the Great Hall, in the large foyer to the castles only overt entrance he stopped, and sadly watched the door. Hoping, praying, the one man he truly wished to see would walk back into his life as confidently and he had in the time between his graduation and his leaving.  
  
To his surprise and his hearts misfortune the doors did open, slightly, just enough for a human head to poke through. A head with what looked to be an American cowboy hat to slip through. The man's eyes bugged and a gasp came from his open mouth when he spotted Dumbledore, then the body fully emerged and a tall thinly build, but indescribably strong looking form, walked forward, tentatively. Dumbledore with deceiving calm, awaited the introduction of the man. As "the man", (as he was called now in Dumbledore's head) walked forward his passed through a halo of torchlight and Dumbledore felt a frightening lurch in his chest as he recognized the face of the only man he truly loved as his own kin.  
  
"Harry!" A loud gasp.  
  
"The man" took several deep breathes, visibly calming before inclining his head, and answering, "I'm home, Albus. Can I have a hug?"  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry watched nervously as Dumbledore took no steps, only rubbed his bearded face with his hands. Then the hands made a slow journey to his side, as the eyes made a quick journey to Harry's own face. Then the old man put on an amazing show of speed and threw himself at Harry with a vice-lice grip the thin arms belied.  
  
"My god! It's you! Here! Its been so long, I'd giving up hope. Where were you Harry? Why'd you come back? How did yo. . . what's this under your coat Harry?" Dumbledore's emotional rant ceased in a question of concise shrewdness. And Harry with no guilt or embarrassment answered only the last question, undoubtedly the only Dumbledore wanted answered.  
  
It's a gun, Professor. Don't ask further, as I will explain later. Please may we go up to your office?"  
  
"Yes, yes. Of course. Please, head on up the pass word is "Pop Rocks", and if you don't mind may I go and fetch Minerva? She ahs missed you as dearly as I myself have. Don't tell her I said so, but she cried for quite some time after you left."  
  
"I would like that Professor. I'll waiting in your office."  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Ten minutes later found Harry sitting in the chair before Dumbledore's desk. His coat and sidearm were hanging from Fawkes' empty perch. He at last heard muffled voices coming from the stairway behind the door.  
  
"Honestly Albus! It is three-thirty in the morning, I need my sleep!"  
  
"Patience, Minnie. This is something you would not wish to wait for, and I assure you it is well worth the loss of sleep. We've had a visitor, you see."  
  
"A visitor? Who? Albus. . . Is that a firearm?" A pause. Harry assumed Dumbledore had given his famous smile and a nod. "Is it our visitor's? You know it is not wise to invited a man who uses such things into a school for children."  
  
Minerva could not see Harry behind the high back of the chair and he chose this moment to make himself known to her. He pick the Stetson off his knee with his left hand and stood, turning as he did so to face his former Head of House. He raise his face to more fully expose it to her and saw as tears and incredulity filled her eyes. The minutes that passed were much the same as the first few minutes with Dumbledore.  
  
Finally, at the behest of both Albus and Minerva, Harry started to tell them of the life he had led since leaving England. It started with a Muggle transport aircraft to New York City, where he stopped in Gringott's of America to clear and close his account with an exchange to American dollars, totaling in excess of fourteen million dollars to be placed in an unnamed Swiss account. From then after he had bought a vintage World War II Harley-Davidson motorcycle, and rode it all the way to Dallas, Texas where he created, through dubious means, an American citizenship for himself in the name of Seamus O'Hara. He then rode down through Houston, to the island of Galveston, where he used his money to live on the beach comfortably for three years. After that he had gotten a private detectives license and moved to New Orleans, Louisiana.  
  
In New Orleans he bought an old mansion in the French Quarter reputed to be haunted. He made his home in the upper stories and founded his business on the bottom floor. He termed it a paranormal investigation service which he named "Storm front Investigations". He did well in that business, taking on shady clients looking to eliminate poltergeists, vampires, and any number of other dark creatures the city was known to inhabit. The Beretta, he said was his weapon of choice against the physical enemies he stood against, vampires and werewolves mostly. He'd enchanted it to imbue the bullets with a strong banishing charm and a simulated sunlight spell as well. The bullets were silver, crafted by Harry himself.  
  
Over the next three years his few new friends had seen a darkness in "Shay", and he had told them it was his past haunting him. Finally, after a near breakdown while on the job, resulting in the mangling of his leg, he had resolved to go home. He spent eight months recovering in the Muggle manner, closed his business, sold his home, and hopped on a flight to De Gaulle airport outside of Paris, where he quietly arranged for the purchase of a large property twenty- four kilometers from Ottery St. Catchpole. Over the next week he moved his belonging into the home, and at all costs avoided being seen in the town by anyone even resembling a Weasley. It had been nine days since he had moved into the home, and now here he was.  
  
Both Professors waited patiently as Harry recounted his most recent life, in which he highly emphasized that he had continuously put himself in dangerous positions, then Minnie asked him the question he truly feared.  
  
"When are you going to go home Harry? When are you going back to the Burrow?"  
  
CHAPTER TWO  
  
Harry spent the night in a suite of rooms in a corridor adjacent to that the teachers inhabited, and awoke to a harsh, bright light streaming in from behind the partially closed drapes. It was still early, but he was less than surprised to have awoken so soon, or that he had slept at all, considering his night. After so many painful nights spent awake in memory, he had learnt to sleep in an situation. Adaptation at his finest. Fully awake and squinting in the light to find his glasses, he removed the heavy winter blankets and leaned toward the night table to retrieve the much needed glasses. Three years earlier he been told by an optometrist in Atlanta that laser surgery could correct the problem, minor and inexpensive really. Harry though had decided that the glasses were a part of him, of his father.  
  
Now fully awake, he limp toward the adjoined bathroom and make use of the shower, a warm shower always worked to relieve the pain of cold mornings in his damaged leg.  
  
Stepping out of the hot water, he glanced in the mirror. There was a short, thick growth of stubble there, but he decided to forego the ordeal of shaving today, it usually helped him to think, but thinking was one thing he hope to avoid for the time being. He dressed deliberately in his dark clothes, black denim pants, black flannel shirt, black leather, gauntlets (he thought them more imposing than normal gloves), his much worn duster, and the habitual black Stetson. He loved his 'work clothes" as he called them, they were dark, menacing, and gave him an air of indelible strength. The stubble, the only part of his face not hidden in the Stetsons shadow, only added to the effect.  
  
Minutes later he stood outside the massive doors to the great hall, random students skittering around him, frightened perhaps. Listening to the sounds of happy children eating behind the oak and stone, he decided he could hide his identity well enough by keep his head low. He pushed the doors open and walked steadily up the aisle between two tables to the head table, feeling the quiet and also the stares. He knew what all but Dumbledore and dear old Minnie were thinking, Who is he? This dark man with the limp? Is he dangerous? Why doesn't Dumbledore stop him? He smiled grimly, a smile those nearest him saw and felt fear towards.  
  
Eventually he took an empty seat he knew was reserved for him, as the headmasters guest. He glanced towards the aged mage and saw the question in his eyes Could I? May I tell them? Harry thought it over, Should they know? If Dumbledore told them it would save me telling everyone else, the Weasleys would know. They would surely come. Yes, save me. He nodded, and Dumbledore stood.  
  
"Ladies, gentlemen, students. I am sure you have all noticed our visitor. I assure you he is no threat to us, quite the contrary. He is. frankly, he is the most noble man I have ever encountered. He is my friend, my former student, and my family, though we share no blood. I wish to introduce you to the greatest individual this school has ever had the privilege to house and educate. I reintroduce you to Harry Potter! Please Harry, stand and let them see you."  
  
Harry listening to the gasps, knowing full well they didn't believe, yet still hoping it was true. He, too, stood. Slowly, as all his movements seemed, he reached up and removed his hat. Then he raised his eyes and showed the children what they wished to see, him.  
  
Every eye before him was rooted to the scar, visible beneath his well known hair. More gasps. One girl fainted. And then that sound. Starting to his right, at the Gryffindor table, applause. It came in loud waves, overbearing all in the large room, until every soul save very few Slytherins were on their feet, slamming their hands together in a deafening boom, boom, boom. A fully genuine smile of gratitude crept into his face, transforming it from a mask of medieval coldness, into that his old teachers recognized from his boyhood, happiness. Harry realized that he really was happy, for the first time since he was sixteen years old, since that day Virginia Elizabeth Weasley had told him that she loved him. In the light of a early morning breakfast Harry Potter was truly welcomed home.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Charlie Weasley sat in his father's seated, it would always be his fathers, at the table in the much loved Burrow, watching his family eating the breakfast prepared by his sister, Ginny. All his family was her now, Ron and his wife of six years, Hermione, their three year old, young Harry (could it be anything else?) Ginny. He was happy now, he was now head of a team of investigative Aurors, and his surviving family was living well. Ginny was still in mourning though, she might never get over Harry's leaving, but he prayed she would find the strength soon, now.  
  
Ron, had a job under Charlie, his leftenant in fact. Hermione worked in personnel at the ministry, and Ginny handled the home, just as well as Molly ever did. She even took care of Harry while his parents were at work.  
  
Charlie sighed, content and reached for the as yet un read Daily Prophet. It had come late today, the edition held back for some odd reason. It didn't matter, it was Sunday, and the household had awoken late anyway. He took a sip of breakfast tea as he opened the paper one-handed, and nearly choked on his own tongue as he read the headline.  
  
Ginny, the protective matriarch of a house without one, looked up sharply to see the problem. "What is it Charlie?"  
  
In a state of shock he simply stared at the front page of the paper. His silence brought Ron and Hermione's eyes up as well.  
  
"Charlie?" His brother asked, concerned.  
  
Ginny stood up and walked around the table to see what had shocked the forty year old Auror, and gasped as well.  
  
Hermione spoke up this time asking much the same as her husband, though much more worried. "What is it?"  
  
Charlie visibly fought for control and picked up the paper, turning it toward her, and she read. "Shocking guest at Hogwarts, Harry Potter returns!". She swayed and fell to the floor. Hermione feinted for the first time in her life.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
For three hours Charlie had been trying to contact Dumbledore through the fire while, Ron tended Hermione and Ginny held the crying Harry in her arms. She was crying as well.  
  
"Why are you wasting time, Charlie? Lets just go there!" Ron, always the impetuous one.  
  
"We cant just barge into the school Ron. Everyone knows now, getting through would be murder. We'll need Dumbledore's permission first. Now shut up, I got through."  
  
Through the flames a white beard preceded the appearance of wise, kind eyes and a gentle smile.  
  
"Professor. . .!" Charlie began, but he was cut off.  
  
"No Mister Weasley, he is not here. He has left to a location I am to release only to you and your family. He is waiting for you." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he paused, drawing out the frustration in amusement.  
  
Ron dove, driving his older, smaller brother out of the way.  
  
"Where? Where is he Professor? Please, we need to know! Please!"  
  
Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Charlie went silent waiting for his answer. Even little Harry sensed the mood and ceased his cutting sobs.  
  
After long minutes, ten seconds in fact, Dumbledore answered.  
  
"You have an automobile Ron? Good. His home is not on the floo network and he has warded it against Portkey. It can be reached only by Muggle means. Just take your vehicle twenty- four kilometers down Llewellen Road, it is the green Victorian."  
  
The small family was out the door and on the road before Dumbledore saw them go.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
The drive was surprisingly quiet, nobody speaking a word as they approached the large dark home on the hill. They had never even known there was a home out here. The gates leading up to the house opened by themselves as they approached they and they then drove up the circular gravel driveway stopped beside a Black motorcycle and a deep crimson Jaguar.  
  
They nervously exited the worn Volkswagen, and stared at the seemingly ancient home. As one they walked towards the cherry- wood double doors. They did not open as the iron gates had. They saw no knocker on the doors, no ringer either. Looking about Ron decided to try it with his knuckles, doubting if he had strength enough left to even strike the doors hard enough to create a knock. He did. The booms his fist made startled them all. The rapid opening of the door even more so, as there was no man visible who had done so.  
  
Checking with each other first, they all stepped into the meager light of the entrance hall. Moving by instinct they strode down its length to the second door on the right and saw a study within the open door. Beside a huge blazing fireplace stood a man in midnight clothing, wearing a cowboy hat, of all things.  
  
Ginny spoke first, tentatively. "H-harry?"  
  
He turned, and raised the brim of his hat higher on his head revealing his eyes in all their wonder. "Hello Ginny, everyone. Miss me?"  
  
Ron, Hermione, little Harry in her arms, and Charlie waiting as they were, letting Ginny have first dibs at him. She rushed forward and slammed fiercely into his chest, alternately beating it and crying into it. Harry, grabbed her shoulders in a vice-grip and gently pushed her away looking into her face, her eyes looking for something, but he didn't know what. Hate, anger, forgiveness, love? All he saw so far was the predominant pain.  
  
"It's me Ginny. Maybe not the same me, but still me. I'm back." Again she crushed herself to him, and he looked at the other over her head. Then his eyes drew toward the small child, and quickly after that to Ron's left hand then Hermione's. The first smile they had seen in him in a long time blossomed on his face. "You two finally.? Wow, and a kid." His voice broke slightly, and he cleared it. "Umm, how about we all sit down? Just grab a sit anywhere."  
  
They all did, three Weasley's and a Granger-Weasley, still not having said a word. Ron and Hermione sat on the couch with the boy between them, Harry in the oversized wing-chair with Ginny in his lap, still crying. Charlie moved to sit in the chair behind Harry's desk, and stopped short at the various weapons in the glass faced chest beside it.  
  
Ancient swords, staves, and ornamental daggers placed within. A supremely long Scottish sword, still bloodied, placed in the center. And a Muggle sidearm inside a hide holster hanging from a peg directly beside it.  
  
Charlie spoke up first, after taking a seat. "Love the collection, but the sword's dirty, mate. Blood's there for a reason, why?"  
  
"Each weapon in the, save the gun is a tribute, to my enemies. The sword in a place of honor because it belonged to the only one ever to put up a good fight. A vampyre, an ancient in New Orleans by the name of Gaius, he used that very sword to do this damage to my leg, took it off actually, before I killed him. I was pretty weak by then, banished the sword and my weapons to my home and used a cell phone to call for the Muggle paramedics. Heh, it's funny, the police thought I was assaulted by common thug, that I had resisted a mugging, and been brutally punished for it. Imagine if they knew it was the dead!"  
  
Ron barked a laugh, and then seemed to berate himself for finding humor in the situation. "Harry. . . how could Muggles have put your leg back on? They don't have the magic!"  
  
"So he does still speak! And hello to you as well Ron, Hermione. Damn good to see you, but to answer your question, they attached it much the same way you reattach a torn shirt fragment, which a needle and much thread, fortunately I was drugged senseless by that time. Then I had to let the would heal, which it never fully did by the way, and then I brought the most able physical therapist in America to bring me back to my feet. Then I came home."  
  
Hermione, who's father had suffered a severe car accident two years after Hogwarts knew by witnessing her fathers ordeal just how it must have been for Harry. She rose, and reaching around Ginny to hug him. "I'm so sorry, Harry."  
  
"Okay" Charlie said, "Now you owe us the full story Harry. We, and most especially Ginny, deserve it. Go. Now." Charlie's voice brooked no argument.  
  
"Don't try to intimidate me, Charlie, it doesn't work. Nothing has frightened me for over ten years. I've killed hundreds of vampires, nearly as many werewolves, I've killed eighty-two men. Nevertheless you do indeed deserve an answer. So after Riddle died, I decided a nice trip by airplane was in order. . ."  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
After the second telling of his story in full to the Weasleys (so hard to refer to Hermione as such!) which he had told in much more detail, Harry had ordered the four adults up to the guest rooms of his home to think and reflect in private, or sleep if they choose. Charlie and Ron had looked at him in admiration, Hermione in understanding. Ginny sat silently, never uttering a word, but crying at the more gruesome parts of his past. Little Harry slept the entire time in the tea room, on a ragged and comfortable Lay-Z-Boy of Harry's.  
  
He sat now in the kitchen, on the counter, looking out the window into the forest behind his home. He thought of Ginny. So many times he had thought of her, wondering if she would accept him as he now was if he'd gone home. Now he was here, and still he didn't know. She was presumably asleep in the master suite upstairs, not thirty feet above his head, and he couldn't answer the question of her feelings for him. And so he sat, brooding. What he called thinking. She loved me once, and I left her, I left them all, but mostly her, and mostly myself as well. Did I break it? Burn it to the ground? Just because I always loved her doesn't mean she still loves me. She couldn't possibly love a man that leaves. A man to afraid of his life to live it.  
  
"You have a beautiful singing voice, Harry."  
  
Harry sat bolt upright and spilled his coffee, café au lait, the New Orleans favorite, onto his lap.  
  
"Dammit! Son-of-a-b. . . Ahem, sorry. Hot, you know. What are you doing up, Hermione? You should be resting, you've had a hard day."  
  
She had been leaning against the doorjamb and now moved to the kitchen table and sat. "Don't give me that Harry James Potter. You've had a harder day, and you're sitting here." She smiled. "And don't change the subject. I said 'You have a beautiful singing voice'. I remember that song, you know? We were in school when that movie came out. The Crow, that song was predominant in the film. So fitting that you would be singing it. The movie was about a man returning from the dead, an avenger, with power, seemingly immortal. That's you, remember? 'The Archangel of Justice', the righter of wrongs, the hero with no identity. You didn't think you had one then, thought you were just some name for the people, never seeing just how important you were, not your name, not your legacy, you. So, you sing that song, probably not seeing such significance in it, the title for instance. It wont rain all the time. Lovely."  
  
Harry sat, quietly marveling at the depth Hermione could see in so simple a thing as a little harmless singing.  
  
"Now you have come back. You look good by the way. Very dashing. Dark clothes suit you. The scruffy little beard, the same old hair. Always were a handsome devil, you were. Made many a girl very jealous when you starting dating, Ginny. Oh, no, don't think I was among them, young man. I had my knight in shining armor in Ron. But Ginny, she waited so long for you Harry. Nearly broke her heart, that did. Then she finally got you, she had the man of her dreams. And when the family died she had you, needed you there to be that little bit of good, then Sirius and Remus died, and you closed off, Forced us out. Ginny was still there, trusting you to come back to yourself. You never did. You left in what should have been the happiest time of our lives. Voldemort was gone, we still had each other, but then you left. And again Ginny waited for you to come back, and again you didn't.. She never really gave up hope. Even after all the rest, myself included, thought you were gone forever, she knew you would be back. Here you are. So very late, she missed much of her life waiting for you. So the question is: Are you going to stay and be with her?"  
  
Harry sat, still as stone, wishing he could cry. Something he hadn't done for years, and he didn't think he ever could again. He knew what he'd done to Ginny. Knew it because he'd done it to himself, too. He looked into Hermione's face, shocked to see tears there, and spoke, in a broken voice.  
  
"I was long gone before I ever took a step on American soil, Hermione. My world was. . . blurred and without dimension inside my head. Never doubt, though, my love for Ginny. I never stopped loving her, never! I tried to come home, to her, to you and Ron, but I couldn't. You don't understand that, I think. I was afraid Hermione, still am, that she doesn't love me anymore. How could she? I was a coward to leave, I tried to supplant cowardice by doing stupid things, taking huge risks, I didn't tell you all this earlier, but I once saw a redhead while I was visiting my banker in New York, she was across Fifth street, and I rushed across it, straight through the traffic, trying to get to her. I was so sure it was Ginny, that she was looking for me there, that she did still love me. I reached the woman screaming 'Ginny!' at the top of my lungs, and turned her around to face me. It was a young Asian girl with dyed hair, she broke free and ran off, while I fell to the ground in tears. Three hours later I was in a jail cell, still crying. Cost me a lot of money to get out of jail, and convince her parents not to file charges. But that money didn't, help me. I went into a depression. Four days later, while on a job, I nearly let a necromancer run a torch through my chest just to end it. So you see, I may have hurt her by leaving, but I hurt myself more by not coming back. I loved her then, I love her now, I will love hers always, but I don't deserve to have her love me."  
  
Hermione stood and hugged Harry for the second time that night, and spoke soothing words into his ear. "You do, Harry. No-one is good enough for her but you. No-one is good enough for you but her. You both have been through so much. You both have earned the right to be together, and if she doesn't take you back she's a fool. You deserve your life back, Harry. Your real life. Now you have to ask her for it."  
  
She released him and walked from the room, dabbing the tears in her eyes with a handkerchief.  
  
Harry continued to think for all of a second, before he stood and walk through the door himself, intent on getting his life back.  
  
CHAPTER THREE  
  
Ginny awoke with a start, confused by her surroundings. Then, noticing the old Firebolt leant against the wall by the door, she remembered. She was in Harry's home. He's back! She couldn't remember being so happy, excepting Little Harry's birth, cute as a button. Smiling, she began to remove the covers, preparing to rise, when a voice frightened her.  
  
"Keep those on, unless you are decent under there."  
  
Startled, she looked left, to see Harry, himself with his back to her, watching who knew what outside.  
  
"Harry! What are you doing here?"  
  
He faced her, a stoic look on his face. "Waiting for you to wake, besides this is my room."  
  
"Fair enough. Why were you waiting for me to wake up. If it was urgent. . ."  
  
"Urgent? Yes and no. The most urgent thing of my life. But I didn't want to disturb you, you looked. peaceful."  
  
"Peace is a relative thing, Harry Potter. Now stop evading, get on with it."  
  
Harry sighed, and she saw a hint of unease flash in his face, but it was gone before she could really examine it. How very curious.  
  
"Did you know that after Voldemort died, I had no fear? None. Whatsoever. I faced the most gruesome of creatures, the most vile of men, I died once. . ."  
  
"Died?" Gasped Ginny, but Harry continued, unaware she had spoken.  
  
". . . and never was I afraid. I suppose I didn't have anything left to fear, I had already lost everything. Then I decided to come here, and I was terrified." He sat down in a leather upholstered armchair against the far wall, Ginny Was sitting up in his bed, the blankets held up to her neck. "While I was gone I had hope, because there was always the chance you would still love me, but by coming here, I forced myself to face the question, if asked the answer would decide my life for me. It is likely that the answer would be no, all too likely. Almost ten years leaves little chance that you still do. I'm here, now. So I am forced to ask the question. Here goes: Do you still love me Ginny?"  
  
Ginny remained motionless, staring at him, angry.  
  
"How could you ask me that? You have no right! I loved you for sixteen years! And you left me! I was alone, you were god knew where. Nobody could find you. You didn't write, or fire- talk, or even call on a telephone!" She calmed, caught her breathe, and continued quietly. "Do I still love you? I don't know, we'll both have to wait and see, but I will always care for you, and that will have to be enough. Okay? Okay. Now, what the hell do you mean you died?!"  
  
Harry, relieved that she at least didn't hate him, chuckled.  
  
"I didn't tell you all that story, did I? No, I suppose I didn't. This was five years ago, y'see. I was on a job in Nevada, call there to find out why the cattle farmers were loosing their stock. Seems they suspected extraterrestrials of absconding with them. Yeah, go ahead and giggle, they were serious, and I found out it was more serious then they thought. That was the first time I met Gaius. Remember him? I mentioned him this morning, or was it afternoon by then? Doesn't matter. Anyway, he was living of the cattle, so as not to draw attention to vampirism, keep the 'slayers' out. Slayers are Muggle vampyre hunters, by the way. Wouldn't have mattered, he was twenty-two hundred years old. They couldn't have touched him. I, on the other had was good, damn good, but still not good enough. I figured it out, you know how good I am at mysteries. Tracked him to a cave in the desert, small one. He strode out, pleasant as you please, and said, 'Greetings, Human, I am Gaius, I shall be your executioner tonight.' Oh, don't act so shocked Ginny, it was funny.. Huh, guess you had to be there. Anyway, I said, 'Not tonight, I wont die on this date.' He didn't understand the significance."  
  
He sighed again.  
  
"It was the fifth anniversary of Sirius and Remus' deaths. Though maybe anniversary is inappropriate, 'anniversary' hints to a happy occasion. . . I'm rambling. Sorry. So, I refused to add my name to that list, on that day. We fought for a long time, and I'll spare you the gruesome details, but as I met him again, in New Orleans, I believe it is evident that it didn't go well. By the end of the fight I hadn't used my wand, never did on missions, didn't use the gun either, hadn't had it yet. So it was a straight up street brawl in the desert. At the end I was on the ground, dead. Yes, dead. Fully, completely, no heart-beat, no breathing, dead. Don't know how long I was really like that, but I woke up, and Gaius was standing above me, even more battered than I was, which I take pride in. I thought in that second that he had turned me, but he was as shocked as I was that I just. . . resurrected. So I did what I do best, I reacted. Hopped to my feet and put a fist into his chest. I don't mean I punched him, Ginny, I punched into him. A two thousand year old vampyre! His skin was as hard as marble! He pushed me away, put a finger to the would, and tasted his own blood. Well not his I suppose. Then he just seemed to disappear. I don't know how he did it, vampyres that old are sort of an unknown entity. A mystery, all their own.  
  
After that I tended to break anything I touched. I went to a bar that night, broke the first glass I got, and three others after that. Finally they just gave me a steel mixing glass, full of bourbon. I took my broom back to New Orleans the day after and began experimenting with this strength, seeing if there was anything else in there. Other powers. There weren't, not really, but the strength was in my legs too, I can spring over twenty feet into the air, straight up. I can crush stones in my hands if I want to, but now I have control, and it's a good thing too, lots of people would be put off by something like that. Five years passed, the strength came in handy, and finally Gaius showed up in New Orleans. Said that we had fought on his ground, this one was mine. He came prepared, too. That sword you saw? He wanted some distance between us, he didn't want a fight with someone as physically strong as himself. Coward, it seemed. I kept it fair for a while, we both did, before he used the sword. He made a good swing that I didn't expect, and took my leg off. By then, I was pretty well fed up with all that 'fair play' business, so I pulled out my gun, and emptied it. Thirteen silver bullets into his chest barely slowed him down. I used that little bit of time to stand up and rip his head from his neck. It made a delightful sucking sound, like a straw with too little Butterbeer to pull up."  
  
Ginny was pale and waxy by this point, shivering despite the heavy covers. "My god. . . MY GOD! You tore his head off? But people don't do that. That's something out of horror stories, Harry. People don't do things like that!"  
  
"I did Ginny, and ,by god, I enjoyed it. Does it scare you to know that? That I took pleasure in decapitating him with my bare hands? Yes? Well, it scares me too, now. So, you know the story. Though we are a bit off track. Are you still my friend, at least?"  
  
"Yes, Harry, we're friends. Always friends, if nothing else."  
  
"I guess I can live with that. Get dressed, I'll wake the others. Dinner's in twenty."  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Everyone, except Harry, was in the study again. Ginny had just finished telling them about Gaius. Ron and Hermione were focused on the fact that he hadn't told them himself, Charlie was examining the sword in wonder of its former master.  
  
He started to speak, closed his mouth, and began again. "I remember hearing about Gaius, once upon a time. He was a gladiator in the arena of Rome. Greatly feared, and respected for his skill. They said he was invincible. One night, after a particularly nasty fight, in which he'd drunk the blood from his victims slashed throat. He escaped. They say he was helped from the outside, as his guards were slaughtered, and the bars to his cage were torn from the stone walls. They didn't know what happened to him, now we do. He was the most feared warrior in mortal life, and after two millennia as a vampyre, gaining all that strength, those powers, and he was killed by Harry. Even beaten by him in a fair fight. A simple man, no magic used. No weapons, and he beat him with his bare fists in the desert. And they didn't think he could've beaten You-Know-Who. Idiots. . . all of them."  
  
Harry's gravelly voice came from the doorway. "No they weren't, Charlie. I couldn't have beaten him, not back then. He would have killed me with barely a fight. Come on, dinner is ready."  
  
Harry stood just inside the door as the others trooped passed him, heading towards the dining room. Hermione came last, and gave him a pointed look.  
  
Checking that everyone else was out of earshot, he answered the obvious. "Yes Hermione, I asked her for my 'life back'. She said 'no'. But that she was still my friend, That's good enough for now, I guess."  
  
"I suppose it'll have to be, Harry, but I stand by what I said earlier. She's a fool if she doesn't take you back."  
  
"You're wrong, Hermione. She's just being smart. I have a history of leaving, she doesn't know if she can trust me not to leave again. Lets go. I made a good bit of food for you all, and it's edible."  
  
Harry led the way as they followed the 'true' Weasleys in to the dinning room. They saw Ron, Ginny, and Charlie all sitting on one side of the table.  
  
"Oh, no. This wont do." Said Harry. "I'm at the head of the table, Charlie, you take the other end. Ron on my left, your son beside you, then Hermione. Ginny you are on my right.." He stood, waiting for them to comply, before waving them down to sit. "You'll all like this, my friend Curry taught me how to cook. It's simple, pretty good I think, for only twenty- five minutes."  
  
Silently they all ate, until Harry could take it no more. "Look, guys. I'm not going to suddenly vanish if you decide to talk over dinner. I'm here for the long haul, now. So, please Ron, Hermione, at least introduce me to your son, I've yet to hear his name."  
  
Hermione simply beamed. "This Harry, is the smartest little boy you'll ever see. Harry Potter meet Harry Weasley."  
  
Harry's fork dropped from his hand, clattering against his plate. He shifted his eyes, back and forth, between Ron and Hermione. "'Harry'? His name is 'Harry'? Why?"  
  
"We wanted to name him after someone that we respected beyond doubt, plus we figured that if we named him after you he might grew up to be more like you."  
  
"Ron, that's. . . that's just. . . I don't know quite how to describe it, but I'm honored."  
  
"We figured you might be, If you were ever to find out.."  
  
"Yeah. 'Harry'. Wow. Um, anyway, I'm making my big public debut in Diagon Alley tomorrow, need some essentials, floo powder, chocolate frogs, a store, maybe."  
  
Ginny looked up at this. "A store? What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean that I liked my job, I like the hunt, the mystery. So I'm planning on buying the old lot Ollivanders used to be on. Going to build myself a nice little office, and wait for the customers to flock in."  
  
"Harry, people aren't just going to come in. Sure, you're famous and all, but why would they trust you to eliminate vampyres, and such? They don't know about your business in America, or what you did to the Death Eaters before that." Hermione is just too damn perceptive, sometimes.  
  
"They will, Hermione. I'm still keeping the name of my old shop, that'll bring them."  
  
"What was this name you're so confident of?"  
  
"Stormfront."  
  
"That was you?! You were Shay O'Hara? Right in front of us! You're name was in the paper all the time, and we never even put it together."  
  
"You weren't supposed to, I never took a picture, never granted interviews, and never took a job for someone that ever lived in England. I couldn't risk discovery. They'll know soon enough too, now."  
  
"Okay, dinners over, story time is over, everyone head to bed."  
  
Ginny was halfway to the door before she stopped. "Where do I sleep, Harry? I cant take your bed."  
  
"Yes, you can."  
  
"Harry, I told you, just. . ."  
  
"Friends, I know. Use the bed, I wont be needing it tonight."  
  
"Wont be needing it?"  
  
"I don't sleep much, not really. And tonight I plan on getting very drunk, and passing out under the stars."  
  
"Oh, well, that's very. . . nice. Goodnight Harry."  
  
He didn't answer. She left slightly hurt, but determined not to show it.  
  
When Harry was alone he moved to the set of cedar drawers containing his dishes and silver, and hidden in the bottom drawer, a bottle of fire-whiskey. When he passed the door to 'Ginny's' room he paused, "Goodnight, love." He walked on to fulfill his nights plans.  
  
Behind the door, Ginny sank to her knees and cried. She'd heard him.  
  
CHAPTER 4  
  
A dark man walked quickly, with determination, through the streets of Diagon Alley, on a direct course to Gringott's. From there he would turn right, towards the impressive ministry building. The building he had been to so many times, but only so far as it's polished marble steps.  
  
The crowd parted I his path, instinctively knowing they could not, should not, impede him in any way. A small group of Weasley's followed in his wake. They took hurried steps, trying to keep up with his feverish pace. It was not until he was coming to his turn that he showed any sign of slowing. He stopped, in fact, and the crowd retreated further at the tangible sense of his sudden fury.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry stopped, his long leather coat wrapping about his thin, powerful legs in its momentum. He looked into an open space before him, not twenty meters ahead, at the foot of Gringott's. A man in a severe black robe was standing before a small, brown haired boy, berating him in harsh tones. A blonde man. Tall, pale, thin.  
  
"How dare you speak against me boy! I saw you myself, you purposely tried to trip me! Do you know who I am?"  
  
Harry redoubled his speed, and was at rest behind the man in a blink of an eye. He reached out a hand and tapped the man's shoulder, speaking softly, clearly. "Leave this boy alone."  
  
The man did not turn, but, he too, spoke softly. Although his voice was hard and dangerous. "You would do well to stay out of business that does not concern you, friend. Leave now." Despite the voice's edge it was slightly feminine, and all too confident.  
  
"I ask but once. Now I command: Leave this boy alone."  
  
This time the man did turn, drawing his wand as he did so, and bringing it to bear on his as yet unseen opponent. Harry's hand shot out in a flash, at a speed the shocked the crowd, and enveloped that of the blonde man. An ominous creaking was heard, whether from the blonde mans fist, or the wand within, none who were watching knew.  
  
Before Harry stood Draco Malfoy, in all his arrogant glory.  
  
"I don't know who you are, but I am sure you know who I am, and if you do not release my hand immediately, I shall have you in a ministry cell by noon."  
  
"That was rather impetuous, Draco. Sloppy as well, very sloppy indeed." Harry's voice seemed to radiate a power that frightened Draco, though he was very successful from hiding most of it. Draco remained silent, and glared at the man before him. Harry turned his head to the boy, his eyes still on Malfoy. "Did you attempt to trip this. man, son?" The boy shook his head, and squeaked a faint 'no'. "Very well, you may leave."  
  
Harry turned his head back toward Draco, all his attention back on the Slytherin once more, he did not see the boy as he remained.  
  
"I would advise against threats, Draco. They lead only to trouble, and pain. A great deal of pain."  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Draco stood in front of this dark man, frightened and excited. He had power, quite a bit of it. He might be useful. But that would come later, for now the emphasis on 'pain' was paramount. He studied his supposed enemy. Tall, thin powerful build, leather Muggle clothes, and unusual hat that hid his face. The sun was high, casting a shadow upon the majority of his face. He seemed to remember the voice, though not in this context.  
  
"Who are you?" He whispered.  
  
"You might recognize my name as Shay O'Hara. From America, though I was born here in England. You may remember me from further back if you stretch your memory back far enough." Draco drew a blank, and still that damnable face was hidden!  
  
"I do not recognize you, but I do know of your name. You were quite the story in the papers, until several months ago. People feared you, I admire that in a man. Still, despite out similarities, I will tell you once more to release my hand, and perhaps we could become friends?"  
  
Draco grimaced as the hand tightened upon his own, as one bone, possibly more, gave way with a quiet, wet crack. "We are nothing alike, Draco, and we shall never be friends. You are a Death Eater, as was you father, before I met him, that is. He was a corpse after I left him however. Do you recognize me now?"  
  
Fury welled up within Draco. This man had killed his father! He had so much as admitted it! "My father? You?"  
  
"Oh yes, he lasted for some time under my ministrations, it annoyed me greatly. Eventually be broke though, as did all the others before and after him, though I must admit, he was the most fun to break, he was the first in whom I found pleasure in torturing. He died. It was wonderful."  
  
"I will kill you for this. You know that don't you?"  
  
"No Draco, you will do nothing of the sort. You will leave this place, if I release you, you will be kind to all you meet and you will live a life of redemption for your crimes. Tell me though, do you honestly not recognize me?"  
  
"No, I most certainly do not, though I will never forget you after today."  
  
"I don't suppose you will. Let me give you a clue, Draco. There was a time when were in the Forbidden Forest together, to were a coward then too." The man raised his head and the brim of his hat as will, allowing the sun to shine fully, on his face. Impossible! O'Hara was..  
  
" Potter!"  
  
"Indeed, Draco. Now leave before I continue my work on you father upon you." He released Draco's hand and Draco looked at it, examining the blood covered shard of bone protruding.  
  
"This wont end so soon, Potter. I will find you again."  
  
"No doubt, Draco. I look forward to it. No run along like a good little ferret." Draco hurried away, for the first time in his life deeply fearing for his safety.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
The Weasley's, and Hermione, who had stood back, mouths agape, now stepped forward. For a long moment they all just watched Draco as he practically ran away. Then Ron burst out laughing.  
  
"You remembered! Ferret! I love it. He hasn't been that afraid of anybody in. well, forever! Damn, I didn't even think to bring my camera, I missed it!"  
  
"Ron! This is no laughing matter! Harry could get in trouble with the ministry for this. That was very irresponsible, Harry."  
  
Ginny decided to defend her one-time boyfriend. "He did what he thought right, Hermione. He's never been wrong in that before, has he?"  
  
"Well, no. But. . ."  
  
"Wait. Both of you." Harry, he always could shut someone up with the softest words. "You forget Hermione, I am a fully credentialed private detective and bounty hunter in America, and as a lawman, so to speak, I am obligated to preserve laws wherever I am. Not to mention the fact that the ministry by- laws state, and I quote, 'The position of the magical community, nor its own laws are paramount to those of its host nation, the Kingdom of Great Britain. It therefore, as a community, must respect and abide the Kingdoms laws, and enforce them at all times, so as to maintain peaceful relations with said nation.' It is a crime to use that sort of language in the presence of a minor, Hermione, and to physically harm them, as he certainly intended to do. I had to stop him, it's the rule of law."  
  
"Ha! I missed that. Nobody could contradict her and win. Nobody but Harry!" Ron never has been one to show up Hermione, even if it wasn't him doing it. I missed this, too.  
  
"Come on, guys, I have a piece of land to buy."  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Hermione and Ginny were sitting in a meticulously tended section of the ministry garden, Harry was in with the Diagon Alley Land Management Official, and Ron was with Charlie and little Harry at Quality Quidditch Supplies. Supposedly just to pass the time, but it was more likely that they were trying to boost his interest in the sport, hoping that he would someday play professionally, no doubt.  
  
The girls, (women, Hermione would correct,) were sitting quietly together on a bench, neither willing to broach the topic both knew would come up. Each was trying to out-wait the other, so as not to initiate herself. Finally, Hermione broke, and began speaking.  
  
"You talked to him?"  
  
"Who?" Ginny replied, though they both knew.  
  
"Harry, of course! Did you talk to him? I heard him follow me up the stairs last night, and he was going to talk to you, I know he was."  
  
"Yes, Hermione, we talked. He was there when I woke up, waiting for me, but you knew we had talked, I told you about Gaius. What else were we supposed to have talked about?"  
  
"Don't avoid, Ginny. You were supposed to talked about you. . . and him. That's what he and I spoke about. Did you take him back?"  
  
Ginny sat quietly thinking for a moment. This was going rather well, I hate to end that. She spoke almost too quietly to be heard, below a whisper. "No."  
  
Hermione, on the other hand, exploded. "'No'?! Why ever not? You are..you're insane, that's what you are. He loves you, Ginny. And you love him. It's as simple as can be! You belong together, that's it. Nothing else matters."  
  
"I cant trust him, Hermione. He left me once, I couldn't survive that again. He's changed, too. He is a completely different person. He is not the man I wanted to marry!"  
  
"You are wrong, Ginny. He is exactly the same. Everything we remember about him is still there. He's still honest, brave, noble, loyal. He still loves you, and the rest of us.. He still blames himself for everything, for god's sake, he still broods the same way! Remember summer after sixth year? When we caught him crying in the Quidditch paddock at the Burrow, and singing? He was singing last night before I talked to him. It was the same song, Ginny. He hasn't changed at all, there's just more of him visible now. You once told me you loved him, that you loved all of him, did that change?"  
  
"No, it didn't, but I cant take the risk Hermione."  
  
"I told him you'd have to be a fool not to take him back, and you are, Ginny. I'm sorry, I adore you, but you are a fool. He risked his heart, and his very sanity to come back here. For you! I wont delude myself into thinking Ron and I had anything to do with it. He loves us, but he can live without us. He needs you. He took a chance, and I am sad to say I thought you would, too. If you don't run to him and be with him, if you don't beg him that man to marry you, then you don't deserve him in the first place."  
  
Ginny was staring down at her knees by this point, a tear falling down her cheek. "I know. . . Believe me, I know."  
  
Hermione put an arm behind Ginny's shoulders, and let her cry.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
The Head of a portly man, with a kind face poked from behind the door of the Land Management Official, and passed briefly over Harry before turning to the pretty secretary.  
  
"Is my next appointment ready, Dora?"  
  
She nodded at Harry and said, "This is Mr. Seamus O'Hara, sir. I do believe he is ready. Mr. O'Hara?" She gave him a beautiful smile, full of erotic pleasure. He couldn't find it in him to care.  
  
"I'm ready, Mr. McKerrick." He stood and walked through the door, past McKerrick.  
  
McKerrick shut the door a watched his appointment walk to the couch in the center of the office. "I think Dora fancies you, Shay. May I call you 'Shay'?"  
  
"She fancies my name, Mr. McKerrick, and you may call me whatever you wish. Though I generally prefer 'Harry'."  
  
McKerrick (My friends call me Mack, of course) was still watching his guests back. "Harry you say?"  
  
Harry removed his hat and placed it on the coffee table situated nearby. Once more into the breach, he thought, and turned. "As in Harry Potter." He smiled and extended a hand.  
  
"Harry Potter? Harry Potter is in my office? Then it's true! You've come back!"  
  
"Indeed, but please, none of that nonsense. Lets just get down to business, if you please. I hear tell that the old Ollivander lot is still open for sale. Is it?"  
  
Of course, of course. Please have a seat, Mr. Potter, sir. . ."  
  
CHAPTER 5  
  
Harry left 'Mack's' office, experiencing a rare, vaguely remembered emotion, an emotion that had been foreign to him for years. It seemed to him that he felt happy. Knowing that he felt happy only enflamed it, made it grow inside him. He walked into the garden, where Ginny and Hermione, were supposed to be waiting with a spring to his step and a happy tune whistling from his lips.  
  
Stepping along the worn path, past beautiful flowers, and towering trees, Harry caught sight of the girls between two thick branches of a monstrous live oak. His pace quickened, eager to share the good news. He was a businessman again. Though as he drew nearer it became apparent that Ginny's eyes were puffy, her face blotchy. He hadn't noticed through the leaves before, but his closer proximity shower him that she had been crying.  
  
Not wanting to pry, he pretended not to notice, and plopped himself down in the dirt before their bench. Smiling he held out the deed to lot number forty-seven of Diagon Alley and pushed it into Hermione's hands with a flourish. "Storm Front Investigations is going to re-open! The Lone Soldier of the Night will ride again! That's me, by the way."  
  
Hermione appeared confused for a moment, and despite her apprehension that Harry should willingly hunt dark creatures, she hugged and congratulated him, even as he sat on his haunches. Ginny though, seemed to darken. Also, she did not fear voicing her doubts.  
  
"Why would you ever want to do that for a living? Cold, dangerous work, it is."  
  
"Someone has to do it, Gin. And to be very frank, it is the only thing, besides Quidditch, that I've ever been good at. I'm a hunter. I've never been a scholar, nor one for procedure. I've never been one for the common thing, I solved mysteries, I search out threats, and I eliminate them. Lets face it, I wasn't even a good friend, or boyfriend. To put it simply, I am a killer of killers."  
  
"You're not a killer! And you weren't a bad friend Harry, and you were a terrific boy friend. You just weren't a constant in either. That doesn't mean that you have to go out and put yourself in danger, you have nothing to redeem!" Ginny was actually showing a passion in her every action as she spoke. Divine, Harry thought.  
  
"I have every thing to redeem myself of, to atone for. You made that clear last night. Don't. Don't try to explain,. I know how you feel, I do. So, anyway, I have a job, a purpose, and I find it a comfort. The only comfort I've had, and I intend to keep it." Harry smiled then, and a glint flared in his eyes. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much. You letting on how much you care Ginny. Lets go, no time to lose, we need to save my namesake from Quidditch fever and give my plot a look over. Then announce the official return of the Boy-Who-Lived"  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
While Harry knew that his homecoming had to be marked by some sort of public appearance he wanted it to be short and limited. He decided to go as low-key as possible, he placed a sign in front of his land reading: "Stormfront Investigations, Soon to come. Owner, Harry Potter A.K.A. Seamus O'Hara." Then Apparated away as crowds gathered to read the sign, drawn by the people that read it before them. He left the Weasley's to get themselves free, got into the Jaguar and drove away from London He had no idea where he was headed, just drove without thought. He did know that it felt important like the last thing he had to do before he could settle down and relax.  
  
He drove mindlessly until he turned onto a dark street. He didn't even know that he knew the way here, to this house. He'd never paid much attention on the few occasions he'd traveled to and from in Uncle Vernon's car. The Jag's engine sounded loud in his ears as he rolled down Privet Drive. He had to do this, had to see the last of his family.  
  
There was no room to park in the driveway, so Harry pulled up in front of the yard. Noting, as he walked, the lack of meticulous care he had given the grass when he'd lived here. He pressed the doorbell. There wasn't any ringing from inside, though there was the sound of a police show from the television. Apparently the care to the house only extended to the necessities. Like the T.V. and refrigerator maybe. He knocked, Loudly.  
  
A few long moments passed before he heard the sound of a slow stampede behind the door. Dudley, obviously. And still at home. He was glad to have worn his work clothes today.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Dudley Dursley didn't like to be bothered. Especially after a hard day's work, and Mondays were the hardest. Everybody waiting through the weekend, then flooding him with work on Monday. He honestly didn't know how his father had handled it, before he'd died. He just wanted to take a seat, relax and help his food settle with some brandy.  
  
He was just about to pour himself a second glass when there was a knock at the door. Booming, insistent, annoying. Bloody nuisance Jehovah's Witnesses. Well he'd just have to give this fella a piece of his mind.  
  
He did not open the door, just yelled through it.  
  
"Go away! It's eight o'clock in the blessed evening, I have half a mind to call the. . ."  
  
A deep, gravelly voice from the other side of the door. "Don't give yourself so much credit, Mr. Dursley. I know for a fact that you don't have even that much mind to you."  
  
Angry, Dudley finally looked through the peephole. A man was there, foolishly dressed in a black outfit straight out of an American Western.  
  
"Listen buddy, if you don't leave, I'll call the police. So just go."  
  
"My name is Seamus O'Hara." He put a card up to the peephole. No picture. "I am a private detective from America. I've come to you because a man by the name of Harry Potter died some time ago. His will names you and your mother as his only living relatives. I've only just found you."  
  
"Potter died? Will? Well, good riddance. We don't want anything of his; Go away." With that Dudley turned back to his den, already forgetting the news of his cousin.  
  
"Mr. Potter's bank account holds in excess of nineteen and one half million pounds. . ."  
  
Dudley stopped, then turned and flung open the door. "What did you say?"  
  
"I said nineteen and a half million pounds, Mr. Dursley."  
  
"Come in, come in. Take a seat. Would you care for some brandy?"  
  
"No, thank you, Mr. Dursley, I prefer a specific brand of whiskey. You wouldn't have it."  
  
"Of course." Dudley turned off the television, then downed his second tumbler of brandy that night. "To the point Mr. O'Hara. My dear departed cousin died, and you say that he left my mother and I almost twenty million pounds?"  
  
"No, Mr. Dursley. I said that he died, that he will names your mother and you as his only surviving blood relatives, and that his bank account holds in excess of nineteen and one half million pounds."  
  
Dudley smiled triumphantly. It was his! That bastard cousin of his had paid off eventually. "It all adds up the same way Mr. O'Hara. That's our money now."  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
This was what Harry had been leading Dudley to. His chance to finally hurt Dudley the way he had been hurt so often by him. To hurt him with his own greed.  
  
"Incorrect, Mr. Dursley. The will says that in the event of his death, all of his money would go to the Weasley family of Ottery St. Catchpole. Neither you, nor you mother receive a single pound."  
  
Dudley's face suddenly paled, and his hand slammed into the liquor bottle, sending it flying, to smash in the fireplace. A roar of flames shot up. "That bloody, good for nothing, dead piece of filth!"  
  
"Shut it, Dursley." Dudley stopped instantly, surprised to be told that in his own home. "Harry Potter is neither dead, nor 'good for nothing.' He is, in fact, a very good assassin of magical and supernatural menaces."  
  
"Rubbish! You just said. . ."  
  
"You, just don't listen, do you? I said he died, not that he was dead. Magic is a wondrous thing, you know?"  
  
"You're like him! A freak!"  
  
"Are you really so stupid Dudley? Thought the years may have educated you. We have been talking for ten minutes, and you still don't recognize me? I am Harry Potter, you great sod." 


End file.
